


Little Faith

by RockPaperbackScissors



Series: Thane x Shepard [6]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockPaperbackScissors/pseuds/RockPaperbackScissors
Summary: Thanks to Alliance security, Thane and Shepard haven't communicated for many months. When they find each other again, they struggle to figure out where they stand.





	Little Faith

When he turns around and sees her, he assumes it’s just another memory materializing unbidden, but not unwelcome. _Shepard, her head tilted to the side, left eyebrow raised, a smile emerging slow and clear as a sunrise in winter—_

But she’s unlike any of his memories: she wears a long-sleeved blue uniform with gold stripes and buttons, her hair lies flatter than he’s ever seen it, and the scars have vanished from her skin.

“Siha.” Fear trickles into his heart. _What else has changed?_ “I heard Earth was under attack. I didn’t know you’d made it out.” 

“Thane.” She steps closer, reaching out to him. He mirrors her movement, pausing when he catches sight of a familiar glitter on her left ring finger; that much was unchanged, at least. The fear in his chest recedes, but his hands still falter before they touch her. 

Her fingers flinch inward, as though scalded by the empty air. 

He looks into her eyes, searching for something, not knowing what. “I sent a few messages while you were incarcerated, but I suspect they never got past the guards. What are you doing here?”

Her expression darkens— with anger? pity?—and she hurtles into Thane’s chest. Her arms clamp around his neck and her hair bounces against his face. It’s soft and silky and smells of a distant alien plant—cedar, she once told him it was called. Another familiar piece of her slips into place.

He closes his eyes and strokes her back, and it's almost enough to make him forget the hospital and the war and the creeping disintegration within his cells. But a mumble from Shepard pulls him back to reality. 

He finds her chin with a stumbling thumb. “I couldn’t hear you, Siha.”

“I said that I’m here for _you_. Your letter finally came.”

“Ah. I thought that perhaps — ” He’s unsure of what he thought, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s on her tiptoes and her mouth is on his and oh, _Arashu_ , he’s missed being this close to her.

He hears a bystander clearing their throat. He is surprised at how little he cares. Shepard is so warm and sweet and— 

She pulls away. Thane’s eyes remain closed. 

“I want to hear everything,” she whispers. Her breathing is unsteady, and Thane knows that his is too. “Everything you want to tell me. And I have so much to tell you. Do you want to get out of here for a little while?” 

The last of the fear in his chest drains away. “I’d like that.”

Thane has walked the promenade outside the hospital every day for many months, but today, with Shepard’s arm looped around his elbow, it has become a different place. _An old krogan wandering alone, back stooped and face shadowed with thoughtfulness. The baritone thrum of a turian’s voice, giving directions to a passer-by. Pigeons, overfed and innocent, foraging for crumbs._ The light is warm, and life is fragile.

They sit on a bench overlooking the market. He tells her everything that he can find words for, although certain details loom outside those borders. When he pauses, her fingers brush his knee and he knows that she can tell.

She fills the silence by offering him pieces of her own story: about Earth and Mars and—in great detail—the Normandy. 

“Do you want to see it?”

He squeezes her shoulder through the thick fabric of the uniform. “Do you think the Alliance would allow that?”

“Do you think I care?” She cranes her neck upwards and her lips graze the ribbed underside of his jaw, sending tingles singing through his nerves. “If anyone asks, tell them you’re there as part of my health and wellness regimen. You know, for stress relief. Emotional support.” She narrows her eyes. “Exercise.” 

Thane laughs. It’s a muffled flutter of a sound, like a bird escaping a cage. His hand drifts from her shoulder to her hair. “I’ve missed you, Shepard.”

She grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet. He runs his thumb along her knuckles and slips it into gap between her middle and ring fingers—the gap that he lacks. She grins and intertwines her fingers with his, two her of her digits tucked against his palm. Their hands are mismatched, and are locked together even more closely because of it. 

When they reach the Normandy, he’s struck by how much darker its interior has become. Even while empty, he can tell that it is now home to a group of a strangers. He sighs deeply when he sees a pool table crouching in the spot once inhabited by Kasumi’s bookshelves. 

The life support room, however, is almost exactly the way he left it so many months before.

He picks the mug up off the table and runs his thumb across the Cerberus insignia engraved on its bone-white handle. “I am surprised the Alliance left this here.” 

Shepard folds her arms. “When I turned myself in, I… _might_ have threatened to dismember anyone who touched this room.”

Thane raises an eyebrow and puts the mug back down. “That must have been quite the threat.”

Her laughter is light—too light, like air escaping a punctured lung. “I needed this place.” She unfolds her arms and swings them at her sides, as though unsure of what they’re for. “In case… Just if…” The sentence comes crashing down as her mouth twists and she buries her face in her hands.

“Siha—”

“I was beginning to think I’d never see you again,” she chokes. Her words are a cliff-face that Thane has no way of scaling. All he can offer is a reflex: he opens his arms. She stumbles close and slumps against him, her head heavy on his shoulder, her tears hot on his neck. An answering dampness prickles his own eyes.

His fingertips trace circles against her scalp as his cheek rests on the top of her head. Her breathing evens out. 

“Sorry.” She looks up at him and drags a sleeve across her eyes, leaving them even redder than before. “I’m ruining it. I want to make you happy —”

He catches her mouth with his own before she can finish. Her lips are salty and soft, like mist from the sea.

“You,” he whispers against her mouth, “have never made me anything other than happy.”

He kisses her again—with desire and with purpose. She shivers as his tongue brushes hers. A heartbeat later he slips his hand under her shirt and runs his fingers up the valley of her spine in search of—

“Thane, wait.”

He freezes, cursing himself for getting carried away so quickly.

“I apologize, Siha.” He lets go of her. “Are you alright? Do you want to talk?”

“I’m fine.” She cups the side of his face with her hand. “But you—you’re sure this is okay?”

He turns his head to kiss her palm. “I’m sure.”

“Right, then.” She snatches her hand away. He steps back, uncertain of whether he owes her another apology, or something else entirely. 

“We have an actual bedroom for things like this.”

He covers his face and chuckles as she seizes his arm and drags him back to the elevator. She taps the button for the captain’s cabin. As the door slides shut, she slams his body against the wall. She kisses the ribbed, red flesh of his jawline and then works her way down to the base of his neck, each kiss a spark that feeds the fire smoldering deep inside him. He’s hard, and he pulls her close against him so that she knows it. He bites his lower lip to stop himself from moaning, willing the elevator to go faster and hoping that no one else needs to use it. 

The door opens, letting in the familiar blue-tinted light from the empty aquarium. Shepard, however, remains planted in the same spot and intent on her ministrations. 

“S—siha?”

She ignores him, instead slipping a greedy hand under his jacket. 

“Siha, please. The bedroom was your wish.” He slides his hands down to the backs of her thighs and lifts her in his arms—silently relieved that he’s still strong enough to do so. He adjusts his grip, and raises an eyebrow when his fingertip brushes the wetness between her legs. She squirms. 

“Don’t act surprised,” she mutters, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso as he carries her into the cabin. 

He sees that the sheets are thrown messily over the bed. He resists the urge to straighten them for her, the way he used to when this room was home to both of them.

Instead, he lowers her onto it carefully. She pulls him down on top of her but he catches himself on his elbows so that he can drink in the sight of her face: dark, loose curls pooling around her head, amber eyes crinkling at their corners, a smile that is bright and crooked and pure. He’s preserved her likeness in his mind these past months, visiting it daily like a devoted museum-goer. And at last, here she is: so close, so real, so alive. 

Shepard kneads his shoulders. It occurs to Thane that if he had less faith in her kindness, he would wonder if she's noticing his loss in muscle tone. But he knows her. His eyelids flutter shut, and he allows the tension in his bones to evaporate. She brings him out of his reverie when she runs her hands down his chest, pauses at the base of his abdomen, and then slides her hands upwards again.

He growls. She chuckles, which turns into a gasp when Thane’s mouth finds her neck: soft skin stretched over taut, warm muscle.

He undoes the top button of her collar, revealing slender collarbones arching winglike from the base of her throat. He plants a kiss at that delicate pulsing hollow, and then sits up to unfasten the rest of the buttons. Her skin is a familiar, enticing expanse, interrupted by a simple black bra. 

She shrugs her way out of the shirt sleeves, props herself up on her elbows, and reaches back to undo the bra clasp as he slides the straps down her shoulders. 

The cups fall away. Her gazes latches onto his momentarily. The bare and inescapable trust in her eyes sends an ache into his chest.

He slips his hand under her left breast. His thumb lightly skims across her nipple and he watches, mesmerized, as the tip grows hard under his touch. 

He bends down to take her nipple in his mouth as his hand moves to her other breast. She moans, slumping back onto the bed and running her hands over the ridge of spines on his head. She tastes salty and a little sweet, her skin rippling under his tongue. 

Planting a final kiss on her puckered nipple, he trails his tongue along the inner curve of her breast to her sternum, and then down to the spot where it gives way to the graceful drape of her rips and the smooth planes of her abdomen. He can remember, with staggering accuracy, everything he’d ever done to draw cries of pleasure from her delicate human throat. He hums at the thought. 

“What are you thinking?” she whispers.

As an answer, he slips a finger under the waistband of her pants. Her knees twitch. He wrenches the zipper open and drags the pants down her long legs, aided by an impatient kick. He moves between her thighs and plants a kiss on the wet exterior of her last remaining item of clothing.

“Please,” she whispers hoarsely. Her abdominal muscles, sculpted by tension, rise and fall with each heavy breath and her fingers tremble against his head. 

He presses one hand on her thigh to still her fidgeting, and with the other pushes aside the thin fabric. He runs his tongue up and down her drenched folds of skin with a slowness that he knows is unbearable for her. Each time, he stops just short of the pulsing pink nub. She writhes against him, and he savors every moan that he draws out from her.

“Please, Thane,” she groans. “You’re such a—ah!”

His tongue attacks her clit at the same time as his fingers slide into her. She shudders, her calf colliding with his back. His tongue traces tiny patterns against her, wanting to give every nerve ending its due. His fingers stroke her inner wall in a lazy rhythm that belies the urgency building between his own legs. Her writhing grows more desperate until he pushes his fingers in as deeply as they’ll go.

“Thane!” Her back arches and she slams her heels downwards against his back.

Breathless, he pulls away and finally drags her panties all the way down her legs. 

When he sees her laid out in front of him—all bare and warm and blushing—he’s suddenly struck with admiration. For her graceful limbs and toned muscles, and most of all, for the amber eyes so full of undeniable love. His Shepard, his Siha, his wife—so beautiful and strong and _his_.

He’s almost too enraptured to remember the task at hand. 

But she brings him back to solid ground, as she always does. “Will you _please_ just take your clothes off?”

He laughs and obliges. She sits up and helps. Two pairs of deft, eager hands work at the zippers and buttons of his clothing until his jacket, pants, shirt, and underclothes are scattered between the bed and floor. 

The tips of her long fingers brush the underside of his erection, drifting down to the base. He bites his lip, catches hold of her wrist, and pushes her back down onto the bed. 

He hushes her with kisses and he nudges her legs open again. He settles down on top of her with his weight supported on his elbows. Her fingertips dance across his back, drawing loops and arcs and lightning bolts, a tapestry of her anticipation. 

She gasps as his tip presses into her. He freezes.

“Have I hurt you?”

She shakes her head. Her eyes are squeezed shut as if holding in a secret. “I’ve been imagining this happening,” she says in a small, brittle voice. “For so many months.”

“Me too,” he confesses in a whisper against her left temple. “But we’re here now.”

He pulls back and then leans into her again, slowly and deliberately, feeling her muscles tighten around him. Her spine arches, her chest squeezes against his, and the back of her head presses into the pillow. He leans down to nip at her beseeching lower lip, kissing and coaxing her silent moans into audibility. 

He wishes he could hold still and make the moment last, but it’s physically impossible. He thrusts again, harder. Her hands on his back grow more desperate, short fingernails digging into his scales. He rocks back and forth, seeking her warmth and depth. She breathes in time with his movements, making him feel as though he is an extension of her.

“You feel so good,” he whispered into her ear, his movements becoming a little more urgent, a little less controlled. She drags her hands down his sides and then, trembling, back up along his spine. He shivers, despite how hot she is underneath him. 

His rhythm quickens and her breathing grows ragged. Thane knows the edge isn’t far for either of them. It takes every last ounce of his self-control, but he stops himself from pushing deeper, and instead pulls away. 

“Oh,” she says. Her eyes flash open, and a pout flickers across her lips for a fraction of a second. He has never seen her cheeks so red. “I—I understand.”

His smiles and he kisses her forehead. “Do you?”

He puts a hand on her left hip — how he loves the feeling of her soft skin stretched taut across the sharp bone beneath — rolls her onto her stomach, and straddles her. She looks up at him over her shoulder. He ducks down and nuzzled her hair, breathing in every molecule of her. 

He slides into her again—smoothly and quickly this time, submerging himself almost to the hilt. She breathes in sharply. “That’s—that’s nice.”

“Only nice?” he murmurs, peppering kisses across her shoulders as he rocks back and forth. Her warmth contracts along his length and a deep, involuntary growl escapes his throat. 

She buries her face in her arms, but not before Thane sees her cheek twitch in a smile. 

He rocks back and forth, unhurried, trying to memorize the feeling of every inch of her that touches him. He closes his eyes, willing time to slow down, to leave them alone just this once. He slips his arm between her and the bed and cups her right breast in his palm. Its warmth fills his hand. He squeezes is gently, his thumb tracing its curved surface, down and around, again and again.

She props herself up on her elbows, stretching her neck so that she can kiss his chin and neck. “Don’t go, please, don’t go,” she whispers into him. 

The desperation in her voice shatters what’s left of his self-control. He needs her; he needs every part of her. The movements of his hips quicken. She struggles to catch her breath and her knuckles turn white as she clutches the sheets. He pins her against the bed, every inexorable thrust pushing them closer to the edge of a precipice. 

She starts to tremble. He moves his hand to her stomach and grips her as tightly as he can, knowing and loving what came next. “I love you,” he whispers into her neck as he thrusts one last time. 

“Thane. _Thane_.” She shudders underneath him and convulses around him, clinging to the bedsheets as though unable to trust gravity to hold her. Her body goes rigid and he reaches his own release inside her, indescribable colors blooming and shattering before his eyes. When his vision clears, both of their bodies are limp, his face is buried in her hair, and the fingers of their left hands are intertwined.

He lies motionless for as long as he can, listening to her breathing. When he finally eases himself free of her, she sobs a little. 

He rolls onto his side and she curls up against his chest. “Are you well, Siha?”

She nods. He hugs her and smooths her hair away from her damp forehead. He wants to ask what she meant by _Don’t go_ , but he suspects that he knows the answer. 

“I’m sorry that I doubted you.” _I’m sorry that I wasted even a second of our time,_ is what he means.

“Don’t be,” she mumbles sleepily. She could always fall asleep with such astounding efficiency. “It had been… a long time…”

As her eyelids flutter shut, he winds a lock of her hair around his index finger. He lets the lock fall back against the pillow, then coils it around his finger once more—rewinding and reliving this little fragment of existence, as many times as he can before the future finds them again. 


End file.
